Symmetry
by Virtue
Summary: n; balanced proportions; beauty of form arising from balanced proportions. Yet another Chris Lightfellow story.
1. Part One

**Symmetry**

**Part One**

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* * *

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A/N: The second and last part is now in queue. I orginally started this as another chapter to a different story, but it grew into something of it's own. Because I can't help myself. It's been a minute since I played the game and I've never read the manga, so I'm sorry for any inconsistancies.

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* * *

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_One more tired thing _

_the gray moon on the rise_

_When your want from the day_

_Makes you to curse in your sleep at night_

"He lays in the reins" by Iron & Wine and Calexico

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* * *

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She was utterly oblivious of the depth of a father's love. How her first few breaths to hours she spent cradled protectively in his broad arms, pale wisps framing the newly developed face, only lighten even further as the days wore on.

"_Hello, Chris." _He'd whisper occasionally, delighted at the sound of the sentence.

When Anna opened her eyes it was a miracle by the doctor's word. Impeccable clear blue reflected the hint of sun peaking through the clouds of a rather dull day. Her frail condition only worsened throughout the pregnancy and she'd lost a considerable amount of blood during the birth.

She parted pale lips and verbalized a demand to receive her child immediately.

* * *

Some years later, a sharp burning pressure from sore muscles caused her to wince as she lowered herself into a chair at Galahad's desk. Recent days had gotten her into a solid rhythm of sorting paperwork, escorting, recording his every meeting, delivering messages, and of course vigorous encounters in the training yard. Of course, it was never in the same order.

"Something on your mind?"

Chris Lightfellow whirled around clumsily to the sudden interruption, causing a stray bottle of ink to tumble dramatically from the spastic jerk of her fingers and shatter into various shapes of glass shards and puddles of black onto the stone floor.

"S-Sir Galahad! Good morning!" She stood now, eyes frantically scanning the room for a spare towel.

The older man watched in amusement as his squire snatched a sheet of scrap parchment and proceeded to soak the runny streams of ink. "You're usually not up this early." She stammered pitifully, "I'm sorry.".

Wyatt's daughter or not, she certainly had a distinctive way of impressing him. As a young child she resembled her mother in most ways, with delicate blonde curls and pastel colored dresses. During a visit to Brass Castle, she was even frightened by the unfamiliar smells and large quantities of knights in armor, causing her to cling to her father's leg the entire time.

Fear had apparently turned to curiosity and curiosity to interest, as she started training only several years after that. He had to admit, it was impressive that a young woman who seemed to be the epitome of status and beauty would choose a path where her such traits would put her at a disadvantage. Luckily for her, he thought, she had certainly inherited her father's skill, making her an ideal candidate for knighthood.

"I didn't intend to." He chuckled, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly as he passed, seating himself where she was previously occupied.

She had successfully gathered the remainder of the ink and glass, disposing of it in a nearby rubbish bin that had previously only contained rejected parchment.

"Give it no more mind." He sighed as she advanced toward the remaining dried ink. "The maids will be in later today."

"I'm sorry," She replied again, eyes straying with embarrasment, only darting to his for a second, "It was clumsy of me-"

"It was. But no fuss is necessary. Ink is easy to obtain. Banquet chairs and wine bottles however…" He paused, amused at the sudden realization that spread across her face. She was obviously astonished at the speed at which gossip traveled.

"How?"

Galahad shook his head. "If it weren't Lilly Pendragon, I'd be very disappointed in you."

Chris said nothing, bluntly unsure of how to react, freshly black stained hands clasped nervously.

* * *

The snow was falling thicker than they'd previously anticipated on the deceptive winter forest floor. From atop her steed, she estimated the snow to be level just below her knees had her feet been on the ground. A persistent wind blasted cruel fleck of snow through the defenses of her hooded face.

"Chris!" Galahad bellowed, and she urged the disgruntled beast forward to be in better earshot.

"Up a little further!" He called to her. Although they where close enough to touch, she was only able to catch every other syllable.

Another gust struck, creating a white powdery dusting. Chris allowed herself to shiver beneath the layers of fabric, fur, and armor. She was unsure of what it was that was up a little further', but she only obeyed. Vinay Del Zexay would be a half day's worth of travel in this weather at the very least, surely he was well aware of that. No one in their right mind would travel in such weather, save for the urgent bidding of the Council, which was exactly the occasion. In such an event Galahad found it unnecessary and foolish to travel with more than his squire. And so their predicament resulted.

The bitter cold was getting increasingly unbearable.

_Think of something else… _She chose the nearest distracting thought she could muster and cursed herself for her behavior lately. Perhaps there was reason why womanhood was discouraged among the knights. She was aware that outside of the training yard, she was but a pretty face and strong name. And with developing curves came periodic bouts of obscene lower abdominal pain and muscular weakness. If anything, Chris Lightfellow found womanhood infuriating.

Her Captain halted and dismounted, and she did the same. They were now on a slope, winding downhill from the road.

Her thoughts were strained now, recalling the sensation of a hot bath, or even a hot cup of tea. Tea at the dining room table in her own home. Portraits of her grandfather. An empty dining room table, save for her setting. An empty table in a mess hall packed with cadets, save for her.

Ahead, Galahad's destination became clear. Anna Lightfellow was a loyal Sindarin enthusiast; and the geometric, solid stone structure up ahead was undoubtedly that. Memories of her first recognizable book pages in the Lightfellow study were distorted in her mind, yet present nonetheless.

The opening was wide enough to fit the arch of the gates to the capital, and they were able to escape the wind and guide their steeds only with an occasional (but never complete, to her relief) loss of footing in the depths of the snow and ice.

Galahad stopped as soon as protection from the wind was evident.

"We'll have to wait for this to pass before we press any further." Galahad spoke softly, as if speaking only to himself.

"Yes, sir." Chris pushed back the hood of her cloak, shaking the snow dusting from it's crimson material. She scowled as feeling regained in her gloved hands. Her hair had been tied in a rather hasty bun at the base of her neck before they departed, and it now was a matted, wet mass of platinum blonde tangles.

Galahad only stood nobly with arms crossed, eyeing the opening from where they'd come in the distance, as if willing the weather to calm.

"You know how I learned of this place?"

Chris shook her head. "No, I don't sir."

He chuckled. "It's not odd to you that an ancient entrance exists in the depths of a forest we travel in so often?"

He was right. She'd been so distracted from the relief and strange familiarity of it all that it didn't seem the least bit strange.

"Sindarin ruins?"

"So your mother passed that on to you as well? She had Sir Wyatt going on about that for months. He was always impressed by her intellect on such unusual things.".

Chris smiled reflexively at the familiarity he'd awoken in her. "She studied Sindar at Greenhill."

"So you are well versed on such obscure places such as this?"

Outside, a shrill howl sounded from the seemingly bright light of the outdoor storm. A wall was visible behind them, forbidding them access to any deeper part of the complex labyrinth. The wall were lined with neatly placed ancient stone, arranged in symmetrical patterns along the tunnel wall.

"Not quite. I simply know they exist throughout Grassland." She paused as more realization dawned on her, "How did you know of this place in particular?"

Galahad sighed. "Strange coincidence. You see, I found myself here with your father just before you were born. I always recognize the way when I pass through."

She stood, crossing her own arms across her chest. Not out of poised dignity like her senior, but out of sudden increasing sensation of cold.

"Not under the same circumstances of course. It was late Spring. A messenger from your mother's household arrived at Brass Castle to say your mother was nearing labor. Let's just say your early impending arrival had him a little hurried." He chuckled. "He was taking shortcuts through these woods left and right. We most likely added hours to our journey in the end."

Her steed shuffled impatiently, obviously uncomfortable as she was, but for different reasons.

"A wrong turn took you here?"

Galahad continued. "Yes. Amidst his understandable madness, he actually stopped here. Perhaps he wanted to remember it for your mother."

"Oh.".

He longed to continue. Unknown to the girl before him, speaking of Wyatt and Anna made him just as reminiscent, and he longed for them to materialize from the storm.

He wanted to tell her more. He wanted to tell the things she might have been too young to remember or to witness. How her first words left him buoyant for weeks afterward even during the most dreary of days, how he uttered her name in prayer before battle, or even how much he anticipated a son.

But that was years ago, and this was now. The dead always find a way to arouse such emotion unattainable to the abilities of the living.

He'd heard the rumors just like any other, the accused instances of favoritism or occasional scandal. The fact was that Galahad could not deny being drawn to Wyatt's only child. She was undoubtedly superior in skill and speed to her peers, save a few instances, yet he would occasionally wonder if he could ever look at her as he would any other candidate. There was also the presence of obligation to his former Captain and mentor to look after her and endure her success.

It was almost as strange on that mild weathered, clear day. Sir Wyatt had been drawn to this place, the very obsession of his lover. The mellow breeze rattled through newly greened leaves. He'd dismounted his horse and whirled around to face his squire, eyes wide.

"Looks like it's letting up. Are you ready to press on?"

Chris's head snapped up from where she'd fallen deep in thought amid the view of the earth-toned floor. "Yes sir."

"Good."

He watched as she leaned forward to adjust her sword at it's hilt amid her many bulky layers, and began the trek forward into the fresh glittery terrain of snow.

Having no children of his own, he figured she was the closest thing to compare.

"_My Anna has always wanted to see such a place for herself." _Sir Wyatt's voice rang soft and clear, _"I ought to show her one day."_


	2. Part Two

**Symmetry**

**Part Two**

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_One more gift to bring we may well find you laid_

_Like your steed in his reins_

_Tangled too tight and too long to fight _

"He lays in the reins" by Iron & Wine and Calexico

* * *

The funerals had proceeded as promised by the Council, and Sir Galahad and Sir Pelize were finally lay to rest in what one could consider a rightful military manner. Citizens from all over the country had arrived in the capitol city to pay their delayed respects to the deceased . The war was over, and the formerly corrupt Council had been brought to justice due to the works of Sir Salome. Zexen had much to both mourn and celebrate.

The days that followed consisted of an ongoing duel of rain and brilliant sunshine. In a moment of the latter, Chris Lightfellow found herself before a rather regal gravestone in the Council building's cemetery. Today was the first day she was comfortable to kneel at the monument in peace, without the curious hustle of city folk coming and going, offering both sympathy and gratitude.

She pushed her loose braid from where it rested upon her shoulder, irritated by the abrasiveness of hair and sweat that lingered at a particularly sensitive spot against her neck.

The morning's rain had left the afternoon sun even more humid and damp than she'd prefer. As a child she'd lay in the shade, skirt spread in a half circle at the base of the tree before her, as her father spoke of the men buried in close proximity beneath her playfully outstretched limbs.

"_Everyone needs a good cry every now and then." _The elderly household maid had told her that morning as she watched Chris dress. _"Even if it requires the privacy of a closet for hours on end. Everyone needs to cry.". _Chris only nodded over her shoulder, long fingers fastening the top button of her blouse. The words where utterly absurd.

There was a shuffle of grass somewhere behind her, causing her to blink back her freshly forming tears and stand, arms crossed defensively. Undoubtedly another citizen had arrived to pay respects.

No greeting followed, and the grassy rustle faded. She glanced over her shoulder to see a familiar face seated on a marble bench in the shade of some other tree opposite the yard. Dark hair carelessly pushed behind his ears, dressed only in simple farmer garb. She only smiled at the unexpected presence, and watched him stiffly, as he now had his head bent in silent prayer.

When he opened his eyes, hers where the to greet them warmly. He smiled back, lifting his hand in a playful wave. A welcome breeze cooled the sweat layered under her blouse as she approached him.

"Why milady, I could've sworn you were but a well dressed damsel." She blushed as she sat beside him, knowing perfectly well he was teasing her about the pale blue skirt that circled about her waist.

"Please don't start with that, Percival. It's too hot to wear anything else sensibly."

He nodded. "I figured.".

She shifted uncomfortably, waiting for him to break the silence as he always did, but he said nothing.

"How are you?"

He shrugged, sliding darkened fingers into the pockets of his trousers.

"I'm well. I'm sorry I didn't make it for the funeral. I wanted to, but almost all of Iksay left to attend, and my mother was under the weather. I didn't feel right leaving her."

Chris listened, grateful for the explanation. The heavy sinking feeling she and her close comrades had felt, scanning the crowds for their recently departed friend, only to find he never appeared that day had only made the occasion even more gloomy.

"You understand, don't you?" The teasing tone was gone, and he was looking at her with a sober expression. "I really do regret-"

"You're no longer obligated to explain your actions to me." She cut in, shrugging her shoulders awkwardly.

He chuckled. "You're right. I suppose I just wanted to."

She cursed herself inwardly for being so stern with company that she'd missed so frequently. The truth was, she was absolutely thrilled by the encounter.

Perhaps it was his humble upbringing, but Percival possessed a silent sensitivity to his environment, a keen ability to pick up on queues from human behavior like no other. And he clearly enjoyed it at times.

"Have you visited Borus and Leo yet?" She asked after another moment of silence.

"I did," He said cheerfully, "We were at Borus's house last night." He eyed her coyly, "We didn't mean to leave you out of the loop, but I know how yourself, Salome and Roland don't stray from the bed or the desk past dusk.".

She smoothed the skirt in her lap and rolled her eyes. "I wont take offense to that." She replied lightly.

Percival sighed and stood, adjusting his vest. "If you don't mind milady," His voice was serious again, "I just need to pay homage. Then would you mind taking a walk?"

The suggestion was welcome. She agreed, and watched as he turned and walked to the graves of Sir Galahad and Sir Pelize. It had been some time since she had such a frivolous evening. With all the commotion and celebration, the mighty six where allotted unusual amounts of leave, which she initially ignored and only attempted to acknowledge at Salome's bidding. But all it did was give her time to think. Besides, it was only several days before she return to Brass Castle.

She watched from her seat as Percival knelt at both graves for a moment, head bowed. If it weren't for the clear definition of muscle of his exposed forearms, one would not know him to be a knight, let alone one with such status among the ranks. His frame was a tad smaller than she remembered, and his face a shade darker. Chris snapped her head the opposite direction as his gaze strayed to her, deep in thought as she was.

She felt her face redden again, and shook the thoughts from her mind. Though her platonic in nature, they made her uncomfortable.

In time he joined her again, and they walked from the cemetery to the dock, sharing amiable conversation. She even laughed several times, causing several passerby to watch her, a simple and elegantly dressed beauty having a pleasant time.

"You're uncomfortable without a sword, aren't you." Percival observed as they stood at the easternmost dock.

"I am." She agreed. She was accustomed to the uneven weight distributed to her hips. Walking without it was just unnatural lately.

She noticed him hesitate before he spoke again, as if he was carefully planning his words.

"Leo tells me you've been in that cemetery every day you're in town." He spoke rather slowly, and his voice dropped in volume, so as to keep others out of earshot.

The sun had relaxed and the ocean water was looking rather choppy; rain would arrive within the hour.

"Leo only knows that because he is there too." Chris stated simply.

Percival crossed his arms and frowned. "Leo has a lot of guilt about how it happened."

For a moment she regret letting the maid convince her of the practicality of her clothing this morning as the unrelenting warmth from the day faded.

"We all do." She shrugged.

They fell silent. There was fewer people in proximity now. Several pinprick droplets lightly grazed the pair, as if warning them of the oncoming storm. Percival nodded to a nearby roofed section of the dock that held various fish gutting tools and barrels. It would suffice perfectly; he was a man of simplicity and she a woman of practicality.

"Did you know," Percival broke the silence in a reminiscent tone, "that Sir Galahad was the one who suggested my surname?"

She chuckled. "Yes. He said it suited you."

His almond shaped eyes narrowed in mock accusation "How so?"

She was grinning now, remembering hearing the conversation between the Captain and Vice Captain. Although she was not familiar with Percival at the time, the memory stuck for it's humor surrounding a rather strange situation. _"All that boy thinks about is women…"_

"He'd be proud of you now, milady. I'm sure of it."

She dreaded the returning seriousness of his voice. "Percival…" Her voice faltered and she fell silent.

He was watching her intently now, brown eyes penetrating her like a blade. "I know you have had an incredible weight on your shoulders, and it's only understandable that your perception of yourself is blurred."

Her right arm clung to her waist and her left hand took a sudden interest to the end of her braid. "You flatter me." She murmured.

"You never take to compliments, I only mean to express my gratitude and loyalty to you again. Just a reminder, that's all."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you, Percival."

"You've changed." He commented bluntly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean since you went to Grassland."

She blinked. "I suppose I have."

"I don't think it's a bad thing, if that's what you're thinking."

The rain was now at a steady yet light pace.

"I'd better get home before the downpour."

He raised a brow. "So soon?"

"I think I can handle it." She replied firmly, eyeing him as if his protest was strictly absurd.

It was then, he realized, he was in love with her.

He walked beside her at her brisk pace, and bid his farewell in the foyer. He felt the iciness of her knuckles gently draw the remaining heat from his lips as he pressed them together in polite contact.

He'd only come to the capitol city to visit old friends and honor the deceased, yet as he left, he only thought of this new and fresh realization. He had his taste of the life of the privileged, but Chris Lightfellow was ultimately unattainable.

But no one ever said Percival Fraulein wasn't bold.

"Milady." He spoke over his shoulder as she watched him open the door.

"What is it?" She pushed wet stray hairs from her face.

"If anyone should have the opportunity, I frequent Budehuc quite often for supplies."

Her brow furrowed, confused at why he was telling her this. "Oh. Alright."

He was a firm believer that whatever was meant to be would be.

* * *

Wyatt leaned casually on the banister, awaiting further direction from the maid as Lord Lightfellow had promised. But his appearance was sudden, and he was a patient man. Preparing a room on such short notice would take several minutes.

The steps creaked slightly one by one as someone stepped downward.

He quickly leaned forward off the banister and turned to greet the servant.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. This was clearly not a maid.

She was tall and slender in build, wearing a pastel print dress that graced her figure down to her mid calf, and blonde hair pulled in an elegant bun low on her head.

"Hello."

Her voice was sweet and musical. She seemed to float past him where he stood at the base of the stairs.

"Hello." His mouth ran dry. Despite being a veteran of countless battles, a bearer of a True Rune, and a fugitive of the Howling Voice Guild, he was in love with her.

"What's your name?" He asked boldly, watching clear blue eyes mock him silently as she passed by.

"Anna."

She smiled at him, revealing delicate dimples on freckled cheeks.


End file.
